It’s Red Carpet Hour in New York City.
On Friday nights between eight and nine the most glamorous of the city’s inhabitants don the pair of Manolo Blaniks they did not get on sale and the cufflinks from Nathan Tim that they bought specifically for tonight. They put on their newest Diane von Furstenberg dresses and Hugo Boss suits, get their hair and nails done. Because tonight is Red Carpet Hour in New York City and if they don’t look good they don’t get in. For the ones that have that problem anyway.
Justin seriously wishes he had that problem. But when you’re engaged to Amelia Domineck doors open for you. Literally. He barely has time to reach for the handle, prepared to open the frosted glass door of Remi for his fiancé before it swings open seemingly of its own accord and a small man in a heavy jacket ushers them inside.
Compared to the large breezy atrium they’d just come from, the lobby is fairly cozy, the small space holding little more than a host’s podium before opening into a larger space where diners chatter excitedly, their eyes glancing around hungrily at the other clientele. Justin hates this sort of thing. He’s been stared at enough for one lifetime. The open mind he’s been trying to keep all day is wearing thin and he tries to console himself with the fact that at least he’ll be getting a decent meal out of this charade. He’s been suffering on a high protein low carb diet all week, courtesy of his new “wedding or bust” nutritionist and he is ready to throw that out the window with some fine Italian cuisine. He isn’t sure if this is good on Amelia’s part, bribing him into not complaining, or simply a coincidence.
“Reservation?”
Justin blinks slowly at the tall sleek woman standing behind the large wooden podium. Her body is long and slender, beautiful in the way that is unobtrusive. He wouldn’t have really noticed except her eyes are green. “Oh… table for ten. Timberlake.”
“Oh darling it’s probably under my name,” Amelia says, shrugging her fur stole into the waiting hands of the coat clerk.
Justin fights a swell of annoyance. He knows it’s not important whose name the reservation is under. He knows he’s just dreading three hours of asinine conversation and over priced food. But does she really always have to put things under her name? When they were first dating and most of his celebrity hadn’t worn off yet he used to enjoy listening to her give his name to the hostess at restaurants like Butter and Daniel or hell even his own restaurant, just the idea that he was taking her out. They never do that anymore.
“I do actually have a table for ten under Timberlake,” the hostess says, checking her book and then looking back up at them, eyes questioning.
“Oh,” Amelia says slightly surprised. “Well…Charlotte must have gotten it mixed up. Justin, give him your coat.”
Justin jumps slightly as he feels someone tap his shoulders and he shrugs out of his heavy coat, letting it fall into the waiting arms of the coat check clerk. He wonders what Charlotte is up to this evening.
“Your table actually isn’t ready quite yet,” the hostess says and Justin cringes, looking anxiously at Amelia who frowns.
“Our reservation is for eight o’clock is it not?” she asks and the hard edge in her voice causes the hostess to shrink back into herself, her green eyes going slightly wide.
“Well…yes but-”
“What’s the point of having a reservation if we can’t sit at our reserved time?” Amelia asks, her blue eyes calculating and cold and the hostess swallows hard.
“You can sit at the bar and I’ll come get you as soon as your table is ready,” she offers meekly and Justin feels a strange sense of protectiveness for her, her green eyes unsure and nervous.
“That’d be wonderful,” he cuts in, his large hand settling on Amelia’s lower back and her mouth snaps shut on her retort, glaring up at him.
“If we are still sitting at the bar when my friends get here…” Amelia hisses quietly to Justin as he nudges her towards the bar.
“…I’ll say it was my fault,” Justin responds automatically sliding onto a barstool and he can’t help but feel that things have worked out in his favor as the bartender steps over. “Jack and coke please.”
“How could it possibly be your fault?” Amelia huffs, sitting next to him and then glancing up at the bartender. “Do you have a French Pinot Noir?”
The bartender blinks. “Um I don’t know lemme check.”
“No!” Amelia says with an annoyed sigh as he begins to turn away. “If you don’t know then you don’t have it. Do you have Cristom at least?”
“I’m sorry ma’am we don’t,” the bartender says his voice pleasant but his eyes weary.
“Well then I’ll need to see the wine list,” Amelia says as if this is the most obvious thing in the world, crossing her long legs and smacking her handbag on the bar a little harder than is necessary.
The bartender nods at her, forcing a polite smile and his eyes flick to Justin apprehensively as if fearing for his safety. Justin just smiles blandly in return.
“This is utterly ridiculous,” Amelia scoffs and Justin hums, a noncommittal sound that he hopes passes as agreement. “You know if Charlotte had made the reservation in my name like I told her to this wouldn’t have happened.”
“See baby I knew you’d figure out a way to make it my fault.” Justin grins as the bartender sets his drink in front of him and Amelia glares at her fiancé as she snatches the wine list from the bartender’s hands.
“This is not funny,” Amelia snaps peevishly, flipping open the wine menu and perusing it heatedly. “I swear to god for every good thing Charlotte does she wrecks a dozen.”
Justin cringes. “This isn’t her fault.”
“Oh isn’t it? How hard is it to make a reservation, Justin? If it were one of the other girls I would understand. Sheer idiocy is a common occurrence with them but this is just carelessness on Charlotte’s part. I’ll have to talk with her on Monday.” Amelia heaves another sigh of annoyance as she reaches the end of the wine list. “Well this is simply unacceptable.”
“You tell em baby,” Justin says disinterestedly, slipping his cell phone out of his pocket as the bartender reluctantly returns.
As Amelia asks carefully calculated questions about the wine selection, Justin scrolls through the menus on his phone until he gets to his text screen, finding Charlotte in his contacts.
***
Charlotte pokes disinterestedly at the noodles boiling in the large pot on her stove and heaves a bored sigh, eyes turning to the television. Nothing much is on TV tonight, a few b-list movies and boring sitcoms but that’s how it usually is on a Friday night. Charlotte has a love/hate relationship with Fridays. On one hand she has two glorious days away from Amelia, no errands, no phone calls, no stress but that also means two whole days without seeing Justin.
She fingers her necklace, biting her lip as she tries to force down the well of excitement she feels just by thinking his name. This is all getting wildly out of hand. She knows herself, knows she always falls too hard too fast and if she had thought this situation would be different just because it wasn’t supposed to be happening she was dead wrong. She can feel it coming, feel it happening already, her heart shifting and changing, little pieces going missing here and there, only finding them again when she is with him. But she knew all along it would be this way, which is one of the main reasons she had tried to stop it.
Only he wouldn’t let her.
It would be so easy to blame him for this. In theory anyway. She can’t blame him for anything, not really, even if it is his fault. She makes excuses for him and explains away any of his faults. She’s been doing that ever since she met him. And in any case, she’s a big girl and she should be able to stand up for herself, to choose what is best for her, choose to call this thing off. But he’d asked her to stay. She’s compromising her own personal beliefs and morals, putting her heart on the line just because he asked her to. She feels slightly sick at her stomach when she thinks about it, so she takes a page from his book and tries not to.
But trying not to think about Justin is like trying not to breathe.
Just then her phone beeps shrilly, wiggling as it vibrates against the counter next to the empty noodle box and she snatches it, praying to god it isn’t Amelia. But her heart skips a beat when she sees Justin’s name on the front screen, biting her lip to control her grin as she flicks it open to read his message.
Ur forecast 4 Monday: bitchy w/ chance of hostility
She laughs despite the growing panic in her chest wondering what the hell she could have possibly done this time, hitting the respond button.
***
Justin flicks his phone shut just as the bartender is pouring deep red wine into Amelia’s glass looking very much like he wants a new job. Justin can’t really blame him.
“Thank you,” Justin says when Amelia doesn’t and she rolls her eyes, turning back towards the entrance seemingly waiting.
He watches with her, sipping his drink as dread curls in his stomach. What he would give to be anywhere else but here right now. It isn’t that he doesn’t like Amelia’s friends, he tells himself; they just have nothing in common. All of them grew up in New York high society, went to boarding schools and ivy league colleges. It was a different way of life, a life Justin didn’t really understand. He imagines that they thought the same about him. If they ever thought about anyone but themselves that is. Justin’s phone vibrates in his pocket and he slips it back out, checking his message discretely.
Was it the thing about the flowers? I knew she was gonna give me hell for that.
“Did I tell you about the disaster with the flowers?” Amelia asks, turning her head to him just slightly and Justin looks up at her quickly, finding her eyes still trained on the entrance.
“No, baby you didn’t what happened?” he asks, adding a slight lilt of interest to his voice as he hits “reply”
negative. reservations n my name. table not ready.
“…and then they ended up being on time,” Amelia finishes throwing a hand in the air as she takes a sip of her wine. “But that’s not the point, Charlotte should have known.”
Justin hums again, holding his phone against his thigh, waiting for Charlotte’s response as he takes a hearty swig of his drink. He knows the longer they wait the more and more hostile Amelia will get. He wonders if there’s anyone he can talk to and hurry this along. He looks towards the bartender who is on the opposite end of the bar, chancing glances down toward them every now and then. By the looks of it he’s doing everything he can to get them away from his bar. His phone vibrates against his leg.
Well that’s clearly YOUR fault now isn’t it?
Justin sniggers to himself.
“What are you laughing about?” Amelia asks, turning to him and he flicks his phone shut quickly, shaking his head.
“Oh just…Trace…you know,” he says holding up his phone and wiggling it.
“What’s he want?” Amelia asks, craning her neck just slightly, trying to see over the tall couple that just blocked her view of the lobby.
Justin clears his throat nervously, guilt gnawing at him. “Well-”
“There they are,” Amelia says, her teeth clenched and she’s off her barstool before he even has a chance to stutter an excuse.
He sighs, thinking someone up there must like him as he slides off his stool, following Amelia slowly. The guilt is still nagging him, prodding him for answers. Why had he lied? He’s texted Charlotte with warnings like that before. It had nothing to do with their new.... he balks at the definition, which only makes his anxiety worse. This isn’t him. He doesn’t lie for no reason, not even to the press and especially not to the woman he loves. He slides his hand across her lower back as he catches up with her stride, a silent apology she won’t understand.
“Bianca!”
Amelia’s face brightens into a look of fierce excitement and if Justin didn’t know her so well he would mistake it for elation. A small dark-haired woman steps forward and the entire room seems to turn, their eyes falling on the two women who embrace lightly, tittering in that way that girls do. Bianca is as dark as Amelia is fair, her hair a glossy black, skin golden brown with chocolate colored bedroom eyes that have the men in the room panting and the women green with jealously. Even in four inch spikes she’s a good three inches shorter than Amelia’s regal frame which only causes Amelia to stand straighter, and Bianca’s chin to tilt up almost as if in defiance, looking into Amelia’s lovely face.
“Amelia darling how are you?” she asks, holding Amelia at the elbows and Justin lets his head tilt to the side, regarding them curiously. He’ll never understand women.
“Oh you know,” she says, shaking her head so that her flaxen hair swishes around her cheekbones, “Crazy dealing with this wedding.” The soft tinkling of her laugh is harmonized by Bianca’s soft singing chortle.
“Ladies…”
Justin’s eyes are pulled from his fiancé and her friend to a short but devastatingly handsome man, his blond hair tousled in that perfectly coiffed way, his sea blue eyes crinkled at the corners, lips upturned in a devilish smirk. Justin stands a little straighter, smoothing his hand down the front of his jacket before Amelia loops her arm through his casually just as Bianca does the same to her date.
“Amelia, Justin, this is Sasha Abelev,” Bianca says with barely contained pride and Justin feels Amelia’s arm tighten slightly around his when Bianca says the man’s name. He wonders if it’s for the same reason that he’s trying to keep from laughing.
“Abelev?” Amelia questions with an eyebrow raised. Guess not, Justin thinks. “Your father’s not-”
“Viktor Abelev, yes,” he says, inclining his head just slightly, his smile nothing short of dazzling. “But I’m not in the Russian Oil business. Strictly real estate for me.” He laughs and the girls giggle slightly. Justin merely smiles, not quite getting the joke.
“Excuse me.”
Everyone’s eyes turn to find the hostess standing behind them and Justin can’t help but notice that everyone’s chin tips up just slightly. The girl’s cheeks pinken.
“Your table is ready if you’ll just follow me please.”
“Thank you,” Justin says as she passes him to lead them and he barely catches her smile.
“It was a disaster with the table,” he hears Amelia mutter and the sharp intake of breath that is Bianca’s responding gasp.
Justin thanks the hostess again after she’s shown them their table, trying to ignore Amelia’s loud complaint that it’s in the back corner of the restaurant and how is the rest of their party going to find them all the way back here. Justin merely grits his teeth and pulls out Amelia’s chair for her, sliding it under her, his palms resting on her shoulders for a moment before kissing her cheek and settling in his own chair. She really does look lovely tonight. Her hair has grown out just slightly and she did that thing with her make up he really likes. The candles on the table seems to make her skin shimmer and her eyes dance. Its moments like this he remembers how much he loves her.
“I’m sorry, my assistant put the table under Justin’s name,” she whispers and the spell is broken, causing him to grit his teeth at the quick surge of enmity he feels towards her.
“Oh it’s no problem Amelia,” Bianca says but there’s a smugness in her eyes that Justin doesn’t like. It’s going to be a very long night.
The rest of their party trickles in slowly; Arden whom Amelia has known since boarding school and her husband Patrick, owner of a small publishing house, regale them with tales of their most recent trip to Tahiti, a second honeymoon since they’d just gotten married there last year. Justin cringes slightly when they tell Amelia that a destination wedding is the only way to go. He doesn’t think he can take another major ceremony change. But to his relief they’re cut off by the arrival of Annelise, Amelia’s co-chair for “Go Run” their charity event for The White House Project and her fiancé Christian, whom Justin knows vaguely from his work as account manager at his parent label. Talk thankfully turns to their fall wedding held just down the street at Saint Patrick’s Cathedral and Justin only tunes out when he’s fairly sure Amelia is sticking to their current wedding plan.
He fiddles with his phone in his pocket, slipping it out and checking to see if he has any messages even though he’s fairly sure he would have felt it vibrate. He chews the side of his bottom lip for a moment before chancing a glance at Amelia who is in deep conversation with Annelise over the possible cake flavorings for both of their weddings. He eyes his phone, tapping it against his leg as if debating. What is Charlotte up to tonight? In fact he wonders what she does on Friday nights period. He never really realized it until this moment but he doesn’t really know a lot about Charlotte. Sure he knows where she’s from and that she has two older brothers, he knows that her favorite song is “The End of the Innocence” by Don Henley and he knows that if she’s close he can nip at the skin just under her earlobe and send her right over the edge. But he doesn’t know what she does on Friday nights, or any night for that matter. He doesn’t know her favorite restaurant or her favorite color. He doesn’t know. He lets his lip slide free, flicking his phone open.
***
Charlotte chews slowly on her spaghetti, watching Rick Blaine ask Captain Renault why he’s clearing out his café. She’s seen this movie a hundred times, a thousand times maybe. It reminds her of her childhood, crawling down the hall when she was supposed to be in bed and listening to the voices of Humphrey Bogart and Ingrid Bergman as her parents watched in the living room. Of course she was too young to understand it then, to realize its themes of sacrifice and choosing between what is right and what you want. It was just words and light from the television screen, just something to listen to so she wouldn’t have to lay in her room alone in the dark.
She jumps when her phone beeps, her thoughts ripping from the past back to the present and she snatches the offending device, flipping it open without really checking it.
wut r u doin
She smiles despite herself and tries to think of a witty response.
tearin up the town. it is red carpet hour after all.
Her finger pauses over the send button staring at the words and they aren’t funny. Not when that’s exactly what he’s doing…out with his fiancé. She cringes backspacing quickly and letting her cheeks puff with air before letting it out slow and trying to think. Maybe honesty is the best way to go.
thinkin bout you.
She winces again backspacing quickly. No need to be that honest. She frowns at her phone, the blank space with her blinking cursor waiting patiently. She’s in uncharted territory. What is the protocol when one is texting the man she’s fucking when he’s out with his fiancé? She shakes her head sharply, the guilt stabbing her so hard it causes her shoulder to twitch. She can’t think that way; she won’t survive this if she does. So she makes yet another compromise. When he’s with her, when he talks to her one on one like this, he’s just Justin. He’s no one’s fiancé, no one holds his heart, and he’s no one’s to keep. She fights the tinge of sadness at the realization that by this definition, “no one” includes her. She shakes her head hard, fingers working quickly over the keys and snapping the phone shut before she can think about it anymore.
***
“Oh that sounds absolutely divine!”
Justin’s attention is pulled to Annelise as she gasps dramatically at whatever Amelia had just said. Amelia smiles, seemingly pleased with Annelise’s reaction as she reaches over and pats Justin’s knee.
“We’re very happy with it, aren’t we darling?” Amelia says, her blue eyes glittering in the candlelight and Justin is momentarily dazed.
He shakes his head slow. “I’m sorry baby I missed it,” he chuckles, bringing a hand up to touch her shoulder and she blinks at him, her smile hardening only slightly.
“The china pattern we picked out,” she supplies and Justin’s eyebrows raise, situating his face into understanding.
“Oh yeah, we were tearin’ our hair out over that one,” Justin says, and he reaches up to tug softly on a strand of Amelia’s hair near her ear and she gasps, reaching up to flick his hand away, smoothing her hair down.
“Oh stop you,” she says, narrowing her eyes at him and he’s not sure if its playful or warning but he smiles back anyway. He remembers a time when such an action would have her nudging his chest with her hand, or leaning back into him. He misses those times.
“It’s going to be so beautiful,” Annelise says with a sigh and a longing look comes into her eyes. “I so wanted a summer wedding but…” she trails looking down at the ring on her hand. “We didn’t wanna wait that long.” She reaches for Christian’s hand, stuttering the conversation he is having with Sasha about penthouses on Fifth Avenue but both start back up again, their hands still entwined on the table.
“We’re having trouble choosing our bath towel set,” Annelise continues and Justin’s not listening to her words so much as watching Christian’s thumb smoothing slowly back and forth over the back of her hand.
He and Amelia used to do that, hold hands with each other even when they were having completely different conversations. He remembers days when they couldn’t keep their hands off each other, her hand resting on his thigh in the car, his fingers walking up her spine while standing in art galleries. Back when they had fire and passion. Her hand rests casually on the table next to her silverware, talking interestedly to Annelise about monograms and hand embroidery versus machine rendered embroidery and he longs to reach for it. If only rekindling what they had was as easy as reaching for her. Maybe it is that easy. The journey of a thousand miles begins with one step, after all. But just as he’s about to reach for her his phone vibrates in his hand and he stiffens, his fingers curling tightly around it, pressing it against the side of his leg in an attempt to muffle the sound. Amelia barely glances his way, and no one else’s conversation even breaks. He lets out a slow sigh as he ducks his chin to check the message under the table
watching casablanca. hows dinner?
A small smile tugs at his lips. So she likes old movies? He can just see her curled up on the couch in some apartment in the Bronx, the television casting flickering light across her face. He wonders what her place looks like, what kind of living room set she has, what color her sheets are. He shakes his head slightly, knowing that’s something he’ll never find out if he knows what’s good for him. He and Charlotte have an understanding, unspoken but explicitly clear to both of them.
listening 2 silly girls talk about monogrammed bath towels. kill me plz.
He flicks his phone shut, blinking around at the people surrounding them and finding that he’s the only person not involved in some kind of animated conversation. Arden listens eagerly as Amelia and Bianca offer advice on Annelise’s flower choice, waiting for a chance to jump in. Sasha and Patrick are now discussing the housing market, Christian trying to keep up with them as Annelise asks for his opinion over and over again. No one seems to notice that he’s not involved in any of it however and he doesn’t know whether he should be offended by this or relieved. He doesn’t have time to think about it as his phone vibrates against his thigh.
LOL! Sounds lovely. Your towels will be beautiful. Did you know when Roxie takes your last name her initials will be R.A.T.?
“HA!” Justin exclaims and the conversations around him stutter to a halt eyes turning to him and Amelia’s brow furrows at him. His ears turn red. “Sorry,” he says holding up his phone and wiggling it. Everyone else nods and goes back to what they’re doing.
“Honestly, Justin tell Trace you’re at dinner,” Amelia replies testily and turning back to Annelise.
“Yes dear,” Justin replies as he types back his reply.
she’d kill u if she nu u were callin her roxie.
He snaps his phone closed again, smiling despite his best efforts not to, listening to the chatter around him without really hearing the words, just waiting for his phone to vibrate. It does quickly and his smile widens, his fingers struggling to flip the phone back open and see what she says in return.
RAD to RAT in one marriage. Man I’d consider callin that one off.
***
Charlotte bites her lip, closing her phone gingerly and setting it back on the arm of the couch, watching it with apprehension. Maybe that was pushing it too far. She’d only been kidding. She doesn’t really expect him to call off his entire wedding after one half joking text.
But the anticipation of his answer still causes her heart to rattle around anxiously in her chest. She can’t deny that she’d been leaning a little heavily on the power of suggestion when she’d sent that text. It reminded her of her grandmother always telling the parable of the mustard seed when she was younger. Even the smallest of things can grow into something larger and more grand. Or in this case take down an entire relationship.
She feels guilty then, her fingers running over the bumps and grooves of her necklace. She doesn’t want to be this person that coaxes a man out of his relationship. She wants to insist that it’s different with Justin, that she wouldn’t be doing this if Amelia showed him at least half a shred of decency but her conscious screams back that it’s always different when one is actually involved in the situation. Morals are easy to keep when they’re hypothetical. Despite all this she still hopes. She hopes because as much as she wants to play like she’s perilous to stop this, like she’s doing this simply because he asked her to, she can’t. There’s something about him that draws her in and fills her up. When she’s with him she feels giddy and full to the bursting point, like she could want nothing more in that moment than to have him near her. As much as she would like to pretend that it is only him calling to her, she knows that her heart seeks him as well.
Her phone beeps, nearly shaking itself off the arm of the couch and butterflies tickle her stomach as she grabs it, clasping it in her hand and swallowing hard. She doesn’t know what she’s expecting him to say. Part of her, the ridiculous unrealistic part, wants him to finally realize. Wild scenarios of him standing dramatically from a dinner table and running from the restaurant enter her mind and she tries to force them down as she flicks open her phone to read his response.
haha
She frowns, staring at the four letters blinkingly, watching them blur over slightly and she grits her teeth against it. She snaps her phone shut hard, anger and hurt welling inside her as she tries to crush the plastic in her palm, hurtling it back handed against the other end of the couch where it hits the arm and slithers down between the cushions.
***
“Danielle!”
Amelia’s voice causes Justin to jump slightly, shoving his phone in his pocket quickly as the last of their party arrives. By the look of the woman that is weaving quickly through the tables, her oversized Prada bag knocking into people’s chairs, one wouldn’t guess that a French duchess had just entered the room. Bone thin and deeply tan she doesn’t have the grace that Amelia and her other friends possess. There’s a little too much strut in her walk, her chin held just a little too high, and she smiles just a little too hard. Her dress is too short and her hair too blond and she wants so desperately to be accepted that it’s off-putting. Justin has a feeling her position in the bridal party has little to do with all the summers she and Amelia spent together in southern France and more to do with her title. The man that follows behind her is short but stocky, plain faced and smug in an Italian suit that clearly hasn’t been tailored and to call his tie ugly would be a compliment. Justin watches Amelia’s nose wrinkle at what he perceives to be the stench of new money.
“So sorry I’m late,” Danielle says, her voice holding only the slightest hint of a French cadence, as she leans in to kiss both Amelia’s cheeks. “Paparazzi wouldn’t quit.”
“They love to take Dani’s picture,” the man responds smugly, his hand resting on her back and Justin bristles slightly, uncomfortable with the air of superiority that is suddenly stifling.
“Don’t worry we’re still waiting on Lydia and Demetri,” Arden says primly, her eyes flicking to the entryway.
“No we’re not,” Bianca says frowning and then turning to Amelia. “I thought they were still in Europe.”
“They are,” Amelia confirms with a nod and Arden frowns looking confused at being out of the loop.
“This is Euan,” Danielle says, placing a hand on his chest and smiling brightly. “He works on Wall Street,” she adds proudly as he pulls his chair out for her. The table titters interestedly as is expected of them.
“Now, now darling no need to brag,” Euan says with fake modesty and the rest of the table chuckles. Justin doesn’t miss the look shared by the other occupants of the table.
“How’s the market doing with that Coalis mess?” Patrick asks, leaning his elbow casually on the back of his chair as he motions for the waiter to get him another drink. “Should I dump my portfolio now or wait til morning?”
The table all chuckles and Justin feels the air change. He thinks he remembers Amelia going on about Coalis at breakfast this morning, mumbling about how their CEO really botched something or other but they would bounce back. When he catches the look Bianca shares with his fiancé he knows exactly what game they’re playing and “Is He Worthy” isn’t something Justin enjoys witnessing.
“Oh they’ll do fine,” Euan says, waving a hand as he settles into his seat. “You’re gonna lose a little but it’ll bounce right back. Coalis is practically made of rubber.” He laughs and so does the rest of the table, the air loosening just slightly but Justin knows the vetting process isn’t over quite yet.
“What company do you work for Euan?” Arden asks from over the rim of her wine glass, her gray eyes flickering , “My brother works at Goldman Sachs.”
“Guage-Whitney,” he responds and Amelia sits up a little straighter, a saccharine smile pulling at her lips.
“Guage-Whitney?” she questions, bringing her wine glass to her lips. “My assistant used to work there.”
“Yes I heard you got Charlotte Jenson,” Euan responds, a sly smile spreading across his face that makes Justin’s teeth clench, his heartbeat picking up. “She’s a tart.”
Amelia coughs out a laugh. “Charlotte? Hardly,” she sips her wine and Justin does his very best to sit still, resting his wrists against the edge of the table.
“Which one is Charlotte?” Bianca asks touching Amelia’s arm lightly. “The tall pretty one?”
“No, the brunette,” Amelia responds and Bianca’s face screws up in thought before she laughs.
“I didn’t even know you had a dark haired assistant,” she replies shaking her head and Amelia smiles viciously.
“Exactly.”
“Come on, now,” Justin says before he can stop himself and all eyes fall on him, causing him to swallow hard.
Amelia chortles softly, shaking her head as she reaches a hand out to pat his knee. “You’ll have to excuse my fiancé.” She turns her head to him, her eyes dancing with amusement. “He’s got a little pet project in dear Charlotte.”
Oh I’ve got something in Charlotte, his mind taunts and he coughs, his own lewdness causing him to blush which Amelia laughs at openly.
“No need to blush, darling,” she says, giving his knee a squeeze and turning back to the table. “It’s very sweet of you. She doesn’t have any real friends.”
“No, she wouldn’t,” Euan says with a dark chuckle and Justin can practically taste Amelia’s excitement even though she has simply let her head fall to the side, regarding Euan with light curiosity.
“Oh?” she asks with veiled interest and Justin would be annoyed if he wasn’t so interested himself.
“Well she was quite popular among the interns when she first started working there,” Euan says, looking absolutely delighted to have the attention of the rest of the table. “Usually when we do a mass hire like that everyone is scrambling and squabbling with old classmates trying to get ahead but that year they seemed to all be best friends.” Euan laughs as if this is utterly absurd and the others frown in confusion as if this concept is hard for them to understand as well. Justin merely licks his lips nervously.
“Sounds like she had friends then,” Justin says, trying to keep his voice neutral but Amelia’s head tilts towards him just slightly, catching the slight hint of defensiveness in his tone.
“For awhile, yeah they all went to lunch together, stayed late together. Interns,” he says with a sigh. “Always together.” He rolls his eyes and then continues. “That is until Charlotte got promoted, several rungs in fact. The others pretended to be happy for her but the animosity was there. She was very good for someone just out of school. Had good instincts.” Euan nods and then his brow furrows. “No idea why she quit.” He shrugs.
“Yes, neither do I,” Amelia says, her tone thoughtful but Justin can hear the frustration in an undertone. He smirks, taking a sip of his drink.
“Rumor was she slept with her boss,” Euan says with a shrug and Justin chokes, getting his hand over his mouth just in time so as not to spray the entire table.
“Justin!” Amelia exclaims looking appalled as he grabs his napkin and wipes his mouth and hands. She rips her own napkin from her lap and dabs at his shirt.
“Sorry,” he coughs, clearing his throat while doing his best to clear his head. “Wrong pipe.”
“Do you think it’s true?” Amelia asks, offhandedly while dabbing at Justin’s tie and he can see the eagerness in her eyes.
“You never can tell,” Euan says with a sigh. “Sometimes they quit because it went sour, sometimes they quit because it’s still fresh.”
“And she quit for no reason,” Arden pipes in, her eyes falling on Amelia, gauging her reaction.
“Do you think she’s still seeing him?” Annelise asks, with mounting interest and Justin feels his chest tighten.
He doesn’t know what Charlotte does when she’s not in the office. He doesn’t know her favorite color, or her favorite restaurant. He doesn’t know if she’s seeing anyone else. The thought had never crossed his mind before but now that it has his stomach turns over itself sickeningly. Charlotte is a pretty girl, smart and funny. Why wouldn’t she be seeing anyone?
“I didn’t think she was seeing anyone,” Amelia says, her tone thoughtful and Justin cringes.
“Who was her boss?” Danielle asks, her interest piqued now as well and Justin slips his hand in his pocket, fingering his phone.
“Anderson Cripps,” Amelia supplies and there’s a distinctive hum from the rest of the table, sly smiles pulling at everyone’s lips.
“Well that settles that,” Danielle giggles and the rest of the table laughs loudly, all except Justin who’s frowning.
“Who’s Anderson Cripps?” he asks and the laughter dies down slightly, everyone blinking slowly at him as if trying to decide if he’s making some kind of joke.
“He’s lead financial analyst at Gauge-Whitney,” Christian supplies for him and Justin nods.
“He’s got quite the reputation,” Sasha adds and Bianca giggles.
“Understatement of the century,” Arden adds under her breath but so that everyone can hear before taking a sip of her wine.
“I feel sorry for his wife,” Patrick says pointedly and everyone hums in pity and Justin feels his palms begin to sweat.
“Charlotte wouldn’t do something like that,” he says, shaking his head but his conscious taunts him, images of her body twisted around his flashing through his mind. Amelia’s ring glitters in the candlelight as she brings her wine glass to her lips.
“What my fiancé doesn’t seem to understand is that some girls only want a man for what he can do for her,” Amelia says, giving him a playful smile. “Lucky for you that’s not something you need to worry about.” She leans over, pecking his lips softly and he smiles despite himself.
“Lucky me,” he concedes and Amelia beams at him, reaching to pat his knee again before turning around in her seat
“Where is that waiter?” she asks and Bianca sighs.
“I’d heard the service here wasn’t that great,” Bianca says sniffing slightly, running her finger around the mouth of her wine glass and Amelia’s eyes tighten just slightly as the other girls’ heads bob in agreement.
“What made you choose Remi anyway?” Annelise questions interestedly. “Christian and I were thinking Butter but-”
“Oh Justin likes Italian,” Amelia says with a shrug and Justin smiles nodding obediently. He doesn’t really mind taking the blame. It’s not like he cares what these people think of him anyway. “Although we’re probably going to reconsider after tonight,” Amelia says, craning her neck again and frowning. “Justin we’re gonna have to go back to the list I think.”
“Yes, dear,” Justin says, trying to remember if he’d ever even seen a list of rehearsal dinner spaces.
“Get used to saying that,” Patrick teases lightly and Justin chuckles a little to himself.
“Oh I’m pretty used to it,” he quips, reaching to run the backs of his fingers down Amelia’s arm and she narrows her eyes at him before smiling and rolling her eyes.
“Acts like I don’t let him choose anything,” Amelia scoffs playfully and it takes all of Justin’s willpower not to let his eyes bug out of his head.
“What have you let me choose?” he asks but the laughter in his voice is harder than he’d intended and Amelia’s eyes ignite though her face stays perfectly calm.
“You didn’t like the menu for the reception so I changed that remember?” she asks, her voice slightly defensive and turning back to the table she adds. “Swordfish and Filet Mignon instead of duck and lamb.” She turns back to him. “And I always send stuff over to your office. The invitations, the flowers, the dinnerware which you broke I might add-”
“Okay okay,” Justin concedes, holding his hands up in defeat as a cool trickle of nervousness travels down his spine. “You win. I am wrong. You are right.”
“Get used to saying that too,” Patrick jokes and everyone laughs.
“Oh I think we’re all used to saying that by now,” Christian adds, wrapping an arm around Annelise’s shoulders and she beams at him, pecking a soft kiss on his lips. Justin smiles softly, his eyes falling on Amelia who is shaking her head, still miffed.
“Finally,” Bianca mutters and Justin sees the waiter making his way towards them, a look of slight apprehension on his face which he replaces with a tense smile as he comes to stand just behind Bianca and Amelia.
“Are we ready to order?” he asks, his pen poised over his pad and Amelia nods, opening her menu.
“I’ll have the Cernia Arrosto,” Amelia says with a sigh, “except I’d like a salad instead of the oven dried tomatoes. The house salad with raspberry vinaigrette. I want absolutely no bacon and very little pine nuts with that. And I’ll take another glass of wine.”
She snaps her menu shut, holding it over her shoulder for him to take, never mind that he’s still scribbling frantically. He barely gets her menu in his hand before Bianca starts.
“I’d like the Branzino Del Mediterraneo,” she says eyeing the menu critically. “Please make sure the leeks aren’t boiled too long, I absolutely hate when they’re just falling apart. Instead of steamed potatoes I would like steamed asparagus and I don’t want any pesto on anything.”
She shoves her menu into the waiter’s hands before turning interestedly to Amelia as Sasha begins to order. “Darling have you had a chance to contact Thom yet? He’s just dying to work with you.”
“Oh,” Amelia says slowly, her finger circling the rim of her wine glass. “I actually decided to go with Naomi Leff.”
Bianca blinks slowly, caught off guard and Justin only listens because Sasha’s incessant questions about the origins of the restaurants pasta are getting on his nerves. He reaches into his pocket for his phone, flicking it open and staring at the inner screen. No new messages. He’s just about to ask Charlotte what part she’s at in the movie when Annelise speaks.
“Is she doing your great room, Amelia?” she asks with piqued interest but then the waiter asks for her order and she sneers at the interruption. “Is there anything organic on your menu?”
“Oh, she’s the best in the business,” Arden pipes in as Annelise and Christian debate over sharing a dish. Looks like Justin’s not the only one on a wedding diet. “Very exclusive. She designed Polo’s flagship store,” Arden nods authoritatively as the waiter moves to Euan.
“I’d like the veal, well done. No garlic in the mashed potatoes…actually I want those steamed not mashed…”
“She’s also been dead for ten years,” Bianca replies and Justin doesn’t miss the testiness in her voice under the humor. Arden gives her a sideways glare.
“Her firm is still very good,” Amelia says, a hint of defensiveness in her voice.
“What about the great room?” Justin asks suspiciously and Amelia barely glances at him.
“We’re redoing it,” she says, reaching to take another sip of her wine and frowns finding it empty. “Does this waiter even want a tip?” she mutters just loud enough for everyone to hear and Justin cringes, glancing at the young man who’s now taking Danielle’s order.
“…I would like a salad. No tomatoes, no cheese, no croutons, especially no croutons, no onions and no cucumbers. Oh and no dressing….”
“That’s news to me,” Justin says slowly, his chest tightening and Amelia’s chin juts out before turning to him slowly and she smiles sweetly which wouldn’t have grated on his nerves quite so much if Patrick wasn’t going on and on about the mushrooms on his Vegetali Misti alla Griglia.
“…I just want them slightly browned, in oil not butter….”
“Darling you always get so annoyed when I decorate,” she says and Justin frowns, trying to concentrate as Arden begins to order, her voice loud and snotty right in his ear.
“…the last time I was here you over cooked my sea bass. I don’t like my fish charbroiled…”
“Yeah but you could have told-”
Amelia turns back to Bianca. “The first time I did the penthouse he yelled at me to stop bothering him with samples. ‘if you show me one more pattern I’m going to scream.’” Her eyes turn to his, dancing amusedly but there’s warning behind it. Don’t you dare embarrass me in front of these people. “That’s what you said to me.”
“Yeah but-”
“Justin he’s waiting to take your order,” Amelia says with a sigh and Justin glances to his right, seeing the waiter standing there, his face worn and weary.
“I’ll have a steak,” he says with a wave of his hand, not even caring anymore. “Babe we didn’t discuss this-”
The waiter clears his throat. “How would you like that-”
“Just cook it,” Justin snaps, handing over his menu and Amelia looks horrified.
“Justin!” she exclaims as the waiter walks away. “Honestly I know he’s utterly incompetent but there’s no need to be rude.”
Justin’s mouth falls open as he watches her turn back to Bianca and he sits blinking at the back of her head as she talks animatedly about ideas she has for wall colors and area rugs. He doesn’t really hear the words, his mind blank and flailing and that hurt lodges itself in his chest. Its something he’s grown accustomed to over the past several months since his birthday. It’s the feeling he gets when he knows Amelia is completely disregarding him, his wishes, his feelings and every other part of him. He glances around feeling slightly embarrassed at being chastised in such a way, wondering if it was blatantly obvious to everyone how little Amelia thought of him. But then he realizes that no one at the table is paying him any mind at all. And that’s when it dawns on him. This is the rest of his life. Right here, right now at this table watching all these people whom he despises. Amelia’s ring glints in the candlelight and suddenly he feels as if he’s suffocating. He snaps his mouth shut and it stays that way for the rest of the meal.
***
“That was humiliating,” Amelia exclaims once they’re safely inside the heated back seat of their town car.
Justin can’t help but agree, though he’s pretty sure they don’t share the same reasons. He loosens his tie at the throat and glares out the window as they pull away from the curb.
“We have to pick a different place for the rehearsal dinner,” Amelia says shaking her head and Justin doesn’t even hum a response, knowing what he has to say will only start a fight. “I mean the service was horrible. That waiter is lucky they include a tip for parties over eight because he would not have gotten one…”
Justin still doesn’t respond, his jaw tight and he just wishes she’d stop talking. Through the rest of dinner all he had wanted was for everyone to stop talking. He didn’t want to hear about the housing market or what some company grossed last quarter, or Amelia’s grand plans for their new décor, especially not that. He’d sat and ate his food, his steak a little over done for his liking but its not like he tasted it anyway, his mind too full, his heart to heavy.
This was going to be the rest of his life. Dinners like the one they’d just had, art show openings, wine tastings. The same people, the same conversations. Over and over for the rest of his life. He feels smothered and caged and it’s making him anxious, his skin crawling and he reaches forward to flick off the vent that’s blowing hot air in his face.
“What’s wrong with you?” Amelia asks finally, her voice annoyed as if she doesn’t want to deal with such things right now.
“Nothin’” he mutters, his eyes watching the pavement outside his window, doing his best to control his anger. A fight isn’t going to help anything.
“Obviously it’s something,” Amelia says exasperated. “You were silent all through dinner, when you weren’t texting under the table. You know how I hate that.”
“Yeah I do,” Justin mutters, unable to stop the words and he hears her sharp inhalation of shock and when she doesn’t say anything else he slips his phone out of his pocket, checking his messages, frowning when he finds none.
“So are you trying to punish me for something?” Amelia asks, her voice hard but there’s a wounded edge to it that even in his angered state tugs at his heart. She pauses for a moment. “The great room.” She concludes finally and Justin rolls his eyes, shoving his phone back in his pocket. “Come out and say it Justin,” she spats and he knows she’s setting him up. She’s so much better at emotional torture than he is. And a fight won’t help.
But maybe a fight is exactly what he wants.
“I just think it’s a really shitty idea to do this right before the wedding.”
She gasps at the venom in his voice and he relishes in the sound.
“Bianca, just redid her entire penthouse,” she says, her tone civil and he’s a little shocked by it. For once she’s trying to reason with him. “My bridal shower is next week. The room is unpresentable. And don’t curse.”
Justin snorts. “Amelia, the furniture in that room alone cost about seventy-five grand. I can pretty much guarantee you that it is not unpresentable.”
He can practically hear her teeth grind. He’s trying her patience and he can’t help the trill of exhilaration that runs down his spine.
“It’s dated,” she says, her voice even but he can tell she’s on the edge.
And tonight all he wants to do is push her over it. “Of course it’s dated!” Justin scoffs, his face screwing up in annoyance. “It’s done in French Baroque! That peaked at about 1650 if I’m not mistaken.”
When she doesn’t respond he chances a glance over at her and finds that her cheeks are flushed, her jaw clenched and her entire body is rigid next to him. He has the sickest urge to smile.
“I’ve already ordered the drapes,” she responds, her voice deathly quiet and its Justin’s turn to grind his teeth. She always fucking wins. But he’s not done. Not tonight. If he’s going to kamikaze his next few weeks he wants it done thoroughly. He wants to really deserve it.
“How are we gonna pay for this anyway?” he asks and the edge in his voice runs off at the end when he realizes this is a valid concern, remembering those two columns of numbers and how dangerously close they were to each other in denomination. Amelia scoffs a genuine laugh of disbelief that brings him back and the anger blazes. “Our wedding is already gonna be about 1.2 million, Amelia. There’s only so much coming in-”
“My parents agreed to help,” Amelia replies, her chin tipping up defiantly as she turns her face to the window and Justin growls, banging his open palm against the side of the door, feeling her jump next to him.
“Goddammit Amelia!” he grits out, bringing his hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose and he tries to breathe deeply. “How many times do we have to go through this? I don’t want to take money from your parents-”
“Then I guess it’s a good thing it’s me that’s doing it then isn’t it?” she replies, the venom in her voice stinging him and he’s losing steam, anger giving way to defeat.
“So I don’t get a say at all?” he asks, turning in his seat to face her. “That’s what you’re telling me?”
Amelia bristles, refusing to look at him, her eyes staring straight ahead. “What do you care what the living room looks like anyway?”
Justin sighs, suddenly exhausted and he lets his eyes close, his head falling back. “I don’t. I don’t give a fuck.”
He hears her gasp. “Don’t-”
“Run us into the fucking ground. I don’t care,” he goes on, cutting her off and he feels the anger radiating off of her.
“What are you talking about?” she demands, her really voice raising for the first time and he winces. “Since when are you so concerned about our finances? Last I checked you were still running the town car out to Bethpage on a whim-”
“If by ‘on a whim,’ you mean whenever you fucking let me,” he spats and a thrill of adrenaline zips through him at her cry of indignation.
“What about your little shopping spree in Los Angeles,” she spits and he winces. “Yeah I saw the credit card bill, Justin. And the dinners with all your old friends. Who’s money was that, Justin? It certainly wasn’t yours. Not with the way your label has been underperforming.”
He grits his teeth, fists balling on his knees, shaking with the effort to stay calm. They are so good at hurting each other now. When had that happened? It is so easy to get right to the heart of things and he remembers why he doesn’t like to pick fights with her. She plays so much dirtier than he does. She’s vindictive, and spiteful and sometimes he really, really hates her.
“Seriously,” Amelia says, her voice harsh but there’s a hesitance to it. “What’s wrong with you?”
Her voice is curious, almost soft and he can feel her eyes on his face, searching for the source of his anger. She knows him well enough to know that he doesn’t like to pick fights, avoids them with every fiber of his being. She can sense that something is not right.
“Nothing,” he sighs releasing his neck and letting his eyes close. “Not a goddamn thing. Lets just…not fight okay?”
He sighs and she crosses her arms over her chest, seething at his brush off and he looks forlornly out at the city street, watching the cars and streetlights slide by. This is his life, better or worse, richer or poorer, this is what he has and what he’s got to live with. When they get home Amelia doesn’t even have to tell him to go to the guest room, him just grabbing his pillow and dragging himself there forlornly, happy that the day is over but knowing that tomorrow its just going to start all over again.
Story Tags: fiancej desksex affair love hottubsex
